Hey, I'm back with the second chapter! I'll try and update at least once a week if real life doesn't get in the way! I'm already a few chapters ahead writing-wise but they need editing, proof-reading... etc.

Hope you're all enjoying the story so far - thanks for all the follows and favourites and a special thanks to Ern Estine 13624 for the review, it's always a writing boost to know people are enjoying my work! :)

Chapter Two

The Trial

He looked… Harry was at a loss for a word to describe Malfoy's state. He looked scared, yet somehow past caring, broken in a way that made Harry feel violently sick. He made no sarcastic comment, no sign of resistance as he took his seat and allowed his forearms to be placed against the armrests, magical bonds silently slithering around his wrists to hold him firmly in place.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, the date today is the 2nd of June 1998 and you have been brought before the Wizengamot to answer to your crimes. You will be questioned under the influence of Veritaserum, to be administered by Auror Grett as your charges are listed. Bearing of the Dark Mark, allegiance to Voldemort, use of the Unforgiveable Curse Crucio –"

The wizard continued listing Malfoy's charges although Harry barely heard them, all of his attention honed to Draco. He watched as his pale face stared, grey eyes ringed with purple looking unseeingly ahead as Auror Grett opened a tiny vial of liquid. Without fight Draco tilted his head and allowed the potion to be poured between his lips. The sight made the sick feeling in Harry's stomach turn more violently. He had not expected this. He had not expected Malfoy to be so… Defeated.

"Questions to determine the success of the potion will now begin." The lead wizard asked from his bench above Malfoy without emotion. "Are you Draco Lucius Malfoy?"

Malfoy nodded, his lips pressed in a thin, but firm, line.

"We need verbal conformation, Mister Malfoy."

Draco scowled deeply, clearly fighting the effects of the potion. Harry knew it would be no use, as Snape had so coldly once told him; one drop of the powerful potion would make you spill your darkest secrets to the world.

"Yes."

Draco's voice matched his appearance. Quiet, subdued, defeated… Most different to any tone Harry had heard Malfoy speak in before.

"And is your accounted place of residence the Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England?"

"Until yesterday" Malfoy's reply was bitter and terse, much more like the boy Harry knew.

"Finally, Mister Malfoy, do you understand the charges brought before you and do you accept your trial here before the Wizengamot?"

"Yes" came Malfoy's reply, his bravado once again lost to defeated tones.

"Records suggest you are marked with the Dark Mark. The council requires evidence of this." It was a statement more than a question as the Wizard flicked his wand toward Malfoy's bound forearm, lifting the material that hid the black skull engraved on his pale skin. At the sight another murmur spread through the court, this time Harry silent as his eyes bore into the mark on Malfoy's arm.

"Evidence noted." The wizard continued, a second flick of his wand hiding the Dark Mark from view once again and finally allowing Harry's eyes to tear away. "When did you receive the mark, Mister Malfoy?"

"The summer before my sixth year at Hogwarts"

"So you were underage?"

"Yes."

Another ripple of murmurs took the courtroom, although the wizard pressed on.

"Mister Malfoy, why did you take the mark? Were you supportive of the dark cause?"

"I didn't want it. I never wanted it. My fa- Lucius, he had angered Voldemort. He hadn't done his duty," Malfoy spat the final word as if it tasted foul on his tongue. "They tortured me, tortured my mother. He offered my arm in an attempt to redeem our name. They changed him. He was never that much of a bastard before..." Although expected under the under the influence of Veritaserum, Harry was still taken aback at how the words ran from Malfoy's lips, painting a picture of a broken boy who had his path in life chosen for him just as much as Harry's path had been given to him. His final words were, suprisingly, the most uncomfortable for Harry. It suddenly struck him how he and Malfoy may be, in a way, similar. He may have been a literal orphan of Voldemort, but as Malfoy spoke of his father, it seemed Harry was not the only one who had lost a parent.

Although he knew he should be paying attention to the trial he had come to witness Harry's thoughts were lost in this revelation, his mind buzzing with wonder at the prospect that Malfoy had wanted what had happened to him just as much as Harry had. The voices in the courtroom became little more than background noise as Harry stared at Malfoy, his defeated frame hunched in the chair that suddenly seemed far too large. George's words from earlier returned to him; Malfoy may be a git, but he certainly wasn't evil. He was broken, forced down a path that had not been his own.

Harry was unsure how long he had been lost in his thoughts hearing little of the trial around him, as questions mingled with accusations batted between Draco and the wizards interrogating him until the lead wizard questioning Malfoy reached for a piece of parchment and cleared his throat, drawing Harry once again to the present.

"Testimonies which are not given in person under wizarding oath are rarely considered in court, especially in matters such as this. However, given the gravity of the testimony we received this morning the Wizengamot have agreed to let the evidence be used to question Mister Malfoy. " He began as the wizards and witches on the Wizengamot jury exchanged questioning looks. "An owl arrived from Mister Harry Potter, testifying to the character of Mister Draco Malfoy, with several events detailed which evidence his opinion."

Yet another murmur rippled through the court as those gathered could not conceal their surprise – Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, supporting a proven Death Eater in court? Not for the first time, as the witches and wizards around him exchanged whispers, Harry was thankful for his disguise. His eyes returned to Malfoy and he saw, for a fleeting moment, the surprise register before he regained his composure.

"How do we know it's really Harry Potter?" A straight-faced wizard interjected in disbelief from the Wizengamot bench, earning a few supportive nods from those around him. "It could be anyone!"

Apprehension clawed at Harry's stomach. What if his letter this morning had been a waste? What if the Wizengamot wouldn't believe it? He suddenly felt like his disguise as Hermione was imprisoning rather than safe, holding him back from helping Malfoy.

"Indeed, we have considered this possibility. The paper has been charmed and traced, compared to handwriting on file from Mister Potter's previous ministry interactions and the owl responsible for the note was traced back to the address at which Mister Potter is currently known to be residing." The lead wizard explained "However, we do accept the unsual nature of this form of testimony. This is why its contents shall not be revealed, rather posed as questions to Mister Malfoy – who under Veritaserum's influence will not be able to lie – to verify if Mister Potter's claims about his character are true."

This seemed to appease most members of the Wizengamot although the wizard who had spoken shook his head, expression suggesting he was far from convinced.

"Mister Malfoy." The lead wizard said, returning his attentions to Malfoy. "As has already been established during the questioning of yourself and your family, your home was used for some time during the war as a base of operations for Voldemort. Can you tell me, Mister Malfoy, what the cellars were used for during this time?"

Despite his straight face Mafloy's grey eyes seemed to cloud over with the memory he was returned to. "We – They used it to keep prisoners."

"And who were these prisoners?"

"Ollivander, he was there for ages. Then Lovegood… Luna, her dad had angered them…" Malfoy trailed off, as if that was explanation enough for her imprisonment. "I tried to… I took them food." He finished, Harry unable to read his expression as he had suddently become very interested in the stone floor beneath him.

"Was anyone else, for any amount of time, a prisoner of the Manor?" The wizard asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes. Hermione Granger. Ron Weasley…. Harry Potter." Although most witches and wizards must have expected Harry's name to follow that of his best friends, there was still another murmur of surprise, almost excitement, which rippled the crowd as they hung onto Malfoy's every word.

"I see. Could you tell us, Mister Malfoy, what happened upon their arrival?" The wizard asked, although Harry knew, after recalling the event that morning, he had it written right in front of him.

"They'd been captured by some snatchers and they'd recognised Granger, thought they could a lot for her if they came to us. Potter's face was pretty messed up… That must have been Granger, Weasley couldn't think that fast if his life depended on it." The snide remark about one of the heroes of the war probably didn't win Malfoy any favours with the Wizengamot yet Harry was relived – it meant Malfoy was still in there, somewhere…

"They wanted to be sure – they wanted to know who they'd got before they called him. Wanted me to identify them… Said that, if I could tell them it was Potter, we'd be forgiven…" Malfoy continued, swallowing thickly. "I couldn't."

"Why couldn't you, Mister Malfoy? Did you not recognise Mister Potter?" The wizard pressed.

"I knew. I just couldn't." Malfoy replied, his voice barely a whisper although it carried as clear as a ringing bell through the silent courtroom.

"They tortured Granger…. It was awful. But… If I…" Malfoy continued despite being asked, the Veritaserum he had swallowed at its strongest, forcing him to spill his rawest emotions. "Aunt Bellatrix used me as Cruico practise when she caught me taking Lovegood bread." He finished after a moment, as if the comparison would explain what he couldn't say.

"Then?"

"Potter and Weasley escaped… Ca me to get Granger. There was a fight, I knew they'd be watching me so I – I had my wand… Potter disarmed me, I could have blocked it, but…" Malfoy shrugged as he broke off, the unspoken words clear; it was easier to surrender his wand than explain why he had resisted in attack.

"But?" The lead wizard prompted, as the charmed note-taking quill to his side quivered in the air, waiting for Malfoy's story to close.

"It was… Easier to let Potter take my wand than explain why I hadn't fought like I should" Malfoy replied. Although Harry had already worked this out, this caused the biggest murmur of all to spread through the court – never would any wizard describe surrendering their wand as easy. "I was punished anyway… Mother tried to stop them… She gave me her wand when I returned to Hogwarts."

"Where is your wand now, Mister Malfoy?" The wizard asked, although once again Harry knew he already knew.

"Last I knew, Potter still had it"

The wizard nodded curtly, his eyes returning to the long forgotten parchment in front of him. "Indeed, Mister Potter closes his testimony by declaring he is in possession of Mister Malfoy's wand and will return it to him if he were to be released, and that Mister Potter would never desire to arm someone he believed to be a dark wizard."

Harry tore his gaze from Malfoy to the Wizengamot as they exchanged glances, clearly weighing up this new evidence. From the looks on their faces, this was clearly something for them to consider. Harry dared to allow the first seed of hope blossom inside him. Would it be enough? Would they save Malfoy?

"Mister Malfoy, this concludes the evidence and interrogation of your trial. Unless… you have anything else to add?"

The court was deathly silent as the wizard Malfoy the chance to speak. Harry watched as his pale face screwed up under the weight of the Veritaserum, clearly fighting the words the potion wanted him to admit.

"Potter saved my life, during the battle." Malfoy whispered, staring resolutely ahead, past all the wizards and witches whose eyes were on him. "So I can't be that bad." With his final sentence his words cracked with emotion, left weak under the effort of trying to hold back his emotions and preserve himself. Harry swallowed thickly as the weight of the words settled on him. The way Malfoy spoke was a plea; not for the Wizengamot to believe him, but for him to believe himself.

"Mister Malfoy, you will be returned to your holding cell for the duration of this courts deliberations. Court will be resumed when a decision has been reached." The Wizengamot rose to their feet and filed from the room and Harry searched their faces desperately for any suggestion of what they would decide. Once the benches were empty, the gallery around him began to filter out although Harry remained in his seat as if held by a sticking charm, watching as Malfoy was released from his magical restraints. As the seats around him emptied and Malfoy was pulled to stand their eyes met. The connection burnt and Malfoy snapped his gaze away in an instant, a violent blush spreading his pale face as he was led from the room. Harry, for a second, had to remind himself that it was actually Hermione that Malfoy had seen and found himself unsettled. It was not so much Hermione's reaction to this that unsettled him, but a pressing wish that he couldn't explain to have been himself in that moment.

Once he was left alone in the courtroom his thoughts sprang into overdrive. George said he had five hours with the potion… Taken at half past 8, the trial had begun at 9. How long had they been in here? How long did he have left? Would he still be safe when the decision was made? His thoughts swirled with tension. Lucius's trial had been notoriously short, the Wizengamot had been in discussion for only twenty minutes before sending him to Azkaban. Narcissa's hand been much longer, the Prophet reported a deliberation of almost seven hours before they reached the terms of her pardon.

Scurrying from the courtroom Harry dived head down into the crowd of witches and wizards now animated in discussion, heading from them as fast as he could toward the toilet yet hearing snatches of conversation.

"Did you see him, looked terrible, not that he doesn't deserve it –"

"Can you believe, he saved Harry Potters life!"

"Looks like his father, just as evil."

"They roughed him up pretty bad, I mean, he's just a kid –"

So lost in listening to the mixed reactions of those around him Harry had to forcibly remind himself to use the women's toilets. Taking a deep, shuddering breath as he locked the door behind him Harry lifted the wrist of Hermione's robe to see his own watch too loose around Hermione's delicate wrist. It was half past 11. They had been in court for two and a half hours. Harry's throat went dry, it hadn't felt that long – was that a good or bad thing? Would it weigh in Malfoy's favour, or against him? For a moment Harry wished he really were Hermione, no doubt she'd have an extensive knowledge of high profile Wizengamot trials, times and outcomes. This thought was enough to remind him that he actually was Hermione right now, but wouldn't be for long. He'd been under George's potion for three hours, with only two left. Would he have to leave before the potion wore off?

Minutes seemed to stretch like hours as Harry sat in wait, locked up in the cubicle, listening to the faint hum of voices outside waiting for the tell-tale quiet of court returning.

Harry checked his watch. One o'clock. Somehow an hour and a half had passed, leaving Harry only half an hour to escape the Ministry without having to make some very awkward explanations. He cursed inwardly, angry he didn't have time to hear the outcome. What was taking them so long? Knowing he had to leave he slipped from the cubicle, out of the toilets and into the corridor past the now lessened crowd. People had obviously gone to eat or gone home, knowing the outcome would be in the papers.

As he came back to the courts entrance he gazed up at the charm-veiled wall which held his wand. This he hadn't had time to think of. Wands were magical objects, what if it sensed a difference between the name attached to it and its true owner? What if he couldn't get his wand back? Now racing with need to have his wand returned to him Harry almost skidded as he reached the wall. Waiting in the short but seemingly endless queue before him he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, checking his watch. Ten past one. Only twenty minutes of his disguise left, that was if he had the full five hours George had promised.

"Place your wand arm through this entrance, Miss, and your wand will be returned to you." The instruction jerked Harry from his thoughts, faltering under being addressed as 'Miss' he stuck Hermione's arm through the offered opening in the veil.

A warm woosh of air crossed his palm and in an instant he saw his wand swoop from the shelf that held it, settling with a gentle drop in his palm.

"Good day, Miss." The wizard who had instructed him before smiled, much more pleasantly than anyone else who Harry had encountered that morning. Returning the smile quickly he rushed away, retracing the endless corridors as he felt a strange icy feeling run through his veins. Before he could register the feeling, Harry was aware that his eyesight was slowly blurring before him – the change back had begun. Dipping backwards into a deserted archway Harry rooted quickly through the folds in the pockets of Hermione's cloak. Although he had not brought his glasses – he cursed himself inwardly for that – he had brought his invisibility cloak. Finally clasping the smooth silk he breathed a sigh of relief, throwing the cloak over himself. Even though he was now out of the courtroom he still didn't feel that explaining the presence of Harry Potter in a witches robe in the middle of the Ministry of Magic wouldn't be easy.

He stayed hidden in the archway under the cloak as the change took hold, the ice now gripping almost cripplingly to him. The faint fog of Harry's thoughts reasoned that if the potion had burnt as he changed the first time, the ice cold made sense on the change back. He made a vague note to tell George of the experience as he felt the last shudders of change spread through his body. Still sitting in the archway, hidden under his cloak, Harry peered out. The witches and wizards ambling past him were little more than blurred figures without his glasses. It would be hard enough navigating his way to the entrance hall and Floo connections without his glasses without having to stay under cover as well. He would wait until it quietened down, he told himself. Getting out without being noticed was enough of a reason to stay that Harry didn't have to admit, not even to himself, that a large part of the reason he was waiting was to hear news of Malfoy's trial.

The wait was agonising and Harry checked his watch repeatedly. Half past three. He'd now been waiting here for almost two hours and the trial had been over for four. When would he know?

"Probation! He's got a Dark Mark and nothing – no reparations, nothing! Well, at least we still have a story. Wizarding Saviour Harry Potter turns to saving Death Eaters!" Harry was jerked from his thoughts by the unmistakable screech of Rita Skeeter's voice. He could hear the disappointment in her opening words and although without his glasses he couldn't see it, he could certainly hear the smirk in her final words. "We've got to get back and get this written up. Front page of this evenings Prophet if were back in time!"

Harry released a steady breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. Probation. Malfoy wasn't going to Azkaban. No doubt he'd have some serious magical limitations in his probation, but he'd be ok. He had a chance. The knots that had been tying unconsciously in Harry's stomach all day smoothed with the news and left a satisfied warmth in their wake. Waiting again became Harry's agenda as he waited for the hub of the Ministry to quieten for the evening although this time the wait was much more bearable. Eventually Harry stole from his hidden archway, carefully navigating past the blurry bodies of the few witches and wizards still trailing the corridors. Finding the Floo's Harry looked around carefully before shuffling toward one of the fires furthest from the reception desk using his cloaked body to hide his hand as it stretched from the cloak to grab a handful of Floo powder. Settling into the flames with his clock still intact Harry cast the powder to the ground, announcing his destination.

"George Weasley's bedroom, The Burrow!"

With the familiar woosh of Floo travel Harry returned, thankful George had kept the fire in his room alight. He pulled the cloak from his body to see George stop mid-pace, relief flooding his pale features.

"Merlin Harry! It's been hours, its half past seven!" He screeched, unable to hide the relief in his voice "I thought – bloody hell Harry I thought you'd been thrown in Azkaban instead!"

"I didn't get out before I changed back, had to hide until it'd quietened down to get back." Harry explained, training his blurry vision on the bedside table on which he had left his glasses, pushing them clumsily back onto his face.

"So it worked?" George asked, his relief now giving way to excitement.

"Completely, just under five hours."

The excited whoop of response from George was infections and Harry couldn't help but grin, this was the happiest he'd seen him, since…

"Fred would have been over the moon." George said with a wistful smile, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "I'm going to open the shop again."

"That's great George! It really is." Harry replied wholeheartedly, pleased that George seemed to be improving.

"Well, if Fred were here he'd kill me if that had worked out and I didn't go back and open up." George reasoned, his wistful smile still ghosting his lips as he shrugged.

"I don't know if it will make a very marketable product just yet" Harry informed him with a grimace, spending the next ten minutes lost in conversation with George about the effects of the potion, the Weasley questioning him about every second.

"Oh, you'll probably want to see – you've made the headlines again. Good job we did get you that disguise" George said, throwing Harry a copy of the evening's Prophet. Looking down at the paper in his lap Harry skimmed the headline. 'Saviour Potter strikes again: Youngest Malfoy freed by Chosen One's testimony.' Harry glared at the headline, only his want to read the story holding him back from throwing it into the dying flames behind him.

"I had to do something. They'd already taken everything to pay for his mother…" Harry trailed off awkwardly, feeling the need to explain his actions, to explain why he'd sent the owl this morning, although he didn't really have an explanation for himself.

George shrugged in a sort of 'it's not my place to judge' gesture. "Do what you will, like the article says, you'll probably need counselling for your overwhelming hero complex that drives you to save the most questionable of characters." George mocked, a sarcastic smirk sweeping his features as Harry groaned. "Mum's saved you some food, you should probably go and see her before she goes insane."

"I will" Harry said, rising to his feet with the paper rolled in his fist. Pausing at the door, he turned back to face George.

"Thank you."

"Anytime" George replied, and Harry knew he meant it.

Descending the stairs Harry allowed himself to be subjected to the force that was Molly Weasley, feeding him as she faltered between scolding him for the risks of what he'd done (I mean, I know George is clever and all, but taking a potion he hasn't even tested! What if you'd been caught!), showering him in hugs for returning safely (I'm just glad you're back, eat it all up now) and a strange sort of praise for his testimony (Ignore Skeeter, she's deranged, you did what you thought you had to). Once his stomach was full and Mrs Weasley had settled Harry turned to her with a question of his own.

"Have you heard from Ron and Hermione?"

"Yes dear, they fire called a few hours ago. Safe and sound in a wizarding hostel just outside Melbourne, they're going to head to the address Hermione has tomorrow." She smiled, affectionately patting Harry on the shoulder. "They both sent their love."

Harry gave Molly a grateful smile before making a show of drawing out a ridiculously loud yawn and rising from the table.

"Goodnight dear" Mrs Weasley said with a knowing smile, turning her attention to a pile of washing which was magically folding itself under her careful wand.

Once in bed Harry lay back and unfolded the paper and read the story outlining Malfoy's trial. Rita Skeeter had, as Harry feared, spent most of the article questioning Harry's sanity for his testimony supporting Malfoy and his now exposed decision to save his life during the final battle. Despite that, the article was rather positive. The terms of Malfoy's probation were clear. He was to return to Hogwarts for to repeat his seventh year as an "eighth year" student, an opportunity which would be extended to all those who had not had chance to complete their exams. Despite now being of age his magic would be limited to the grounds of Hogwarts until his exams had been passed or be completely revoked. He would also, by appointment of the new headmistress McGonagall, be involved in the physical restoration of Hogwarts over the summer. Most of the magical rebuilding had been done but some areas of the castle, touched by the darkest magic, would have to be rebuilt by hand. Harry knew that McGonagall's involvement with Malfoy's probation would be to make clear to him the stark damage of dark magic – Harry knew, he had seen for himself the shell of Hogwarts a few days after the battle when he had returned. Yet he also knew that it was McGonagall's offering of forgiveness. Without a full education, a wizard couldn't gain standing in the world. Without the Manor and it's riches to fall back on, what would Malfoy do? For now, at least, McGonagall had shown him that he could earn forgiveness and at the least have a bed to sleep in and food to eat. Harry was also pleased to note the Prophet had, in the little they'd spoken about Malfoy's appearance, acknowledged to some extent that Malfoy had been underage when joining the Death Eaters and that most of his actions had been under heavy emotional coercion.

Folding the paper and throwing it to the floor, Harry was just about to lift his wand to kill the light he'd used to read when he saw an owl at the window. The owl was a brilliant white, pale and beautiful. It seemed to be almost staring at Harry through the glass. At first Harry could have sworn he was imagining Hedwig gazing in at him apart from the eyes – the eyes were unlike any he'd seen in an owl before; a piercing grey stare. Almost as if the owl knew it had been caught staring it took off into the night sky.

Harry shook his head. He was seeing things, imagining Hedwig with different eyes. Besides, owls didn't stare. It was late and he was tired, the day had been long and wearing. Removing his glasses he sank into the pillows and he would not question when he awoke why he had slept the best he had since the war and why he only dreamed of a pale owl with piercing grey eyes.